Too Keen: Stellar Magazine
Title: Too Keen
Author: Jonathan McCrea
Date: Nov 24th 2009
Publication: Stellar
I was outside a pub in town last week trying to get a reception on my new phone. I was a bit drunk and loudly effing and blinding at the thing in my hand, when I was interrupted by a familiar voice. “Jonathan?” It was Nadine, a girl who I hadn’t seen in a few years. I had a bit of a thing for this young lady. Ordinarily that would be no big deal, but with Nadine something weird happened. Whether it was the positioning of the moon, my frustration with the dating scene at the time or the fact that she was an underwear model with a GSOH, she turned me into a complete babbling moron.
I met her during what I like to call my “dark period”.
I had been single for a while and had been on a remarkable streak of dates with weirdos. One turned up to dinner with a sex toy already in place (I kid you not) and another actually started crying in the middle of a snog. I could write a book about the fruit biscuits I met that year, but believe me, it wasn’t as much fun as it sounds. I was more than a little bit fed up with the whole thing when I met Nadine at a friend’s party. We connected immediately, she was smart and funny and quirky and I fell for her on the spot. I asked her out to dinner. She said yes. I was over the moon. On the way home, I sent her a funny text. She sent one back. Encouraged, I sent another. And then nine more after that. And so it began.
“Nothing worse than looking too keen” I would often patronise/chide my friend Brian. Among other things, Brian is a serial overtexter. He’s just one of those people that doesn’t do slow and steady. He falls in love faster than most people tie their shoelaces and has so far found ‘the one’ about twelve times. He once moved in with a pregnant girl after they’d been dating for 6 weeks. He just wants to be in a relationship, and that’s that. It’s obvious when someone is looking for a “life partner”, it permeates everything they do like a bad odour, and for Brian, neediness was a daily cologne. I, on the other hand, was the complete opposite of my love-starved friend. An admittedly over-confident bloke who was rarely ruffled by rejection, I was perfectly happy in my own single skin. I often took it upon myself to coach Brian in “the ways of women” because I felt sorry for him: I knew I’d never be such a sap around girls. Back to my tale of complete and utter humiliation then.
The night after the party I realised that the last 3 sent texts had been without reply. I read back over them and started to feel my face heat up. I was too keen, way too keen. God, I kicked myself, she probably thought I was a Brian. I couldn’t have her thinking that, so I decided I’d call her, just to reassure her. No answer. I rang again, just in case she had missed the call. Still no answer. Now it was 11 texts and 2 missed calls in less than 24 hours. I tried to figure out a way of fixing the situation, but came up with nothing. After a few hours panicking, I convinced myself that I really should speak to her. Now ringing for the third time, her phone was diverted to voicemail.
It was a while back, but I still remember the message verbatim: “Hey Nadine, it’s Jonathan, just so you know, I’m not stalking you. Where are you? How come you didn’t answer my texts? Ha, ha. (pause) I’m Just kidding. (pause) Anyway, give me a call? It’s 087…”. I hung up the phone and were I a female character in a Jane Austen novel, I would have fainted. Instead, I just puked a little in my mouth.
I had had this feeling before, when I asked out Jenny Morgan to go and see Robin Hood Prince of Thieves with Kevin Costner. I was 15. It took me an hour to make the phone call and stammer out the question. I remember her refusal was so unwavering, so unflinching, so succinct, I almost admired her for it. No thanks.
Incredibly, Nadine didn’t cancel dinner. I later found out this was due to industrious lobbying from a mutual friend who thought she was doing me a favour. Turns out not so much. The entire date lasted about 35 minutes. It’s too excruciating to pick over the details, but for the record, she had chicken, I had prawns. I apologised a lot for no reason and tried to be funny, but failed. I remember thinking afterwards: that must be what drowning feels like. I never saw Nadine again.
A couple of months later, the weirdo parade of 2005 eventually came to an end, but the entire gut-wrenching experience taught me something. Brian isn’t a type. Being overeager is a phase that can happen to anyone, for Brian it was just lasting a bit longer than usual. Confidence is fickle: one month you might be swilling in it like a worm in a tequila bottle and the next you could be stalking someone via SMS.
I had pretty much blanked out the whole Nadine episode until last Saturday outside the pub when my mobile went on the blink. “Jonathan?… Hi, how’s it going?” she said. As casual as a morning breeze I said “Nadine… Hey…”. Her eyes settled on the phone in my hand. “Out of credit, by any chance?”. I opened my mouth to answer and shut it again just as fast. She just winked, smiled and skipped off to wherever it is girls like her go.